


this is hell, nor am I out of it

by JiMoriartea



Category: Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe
Genre: ...or does he?, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Faustus is a clotpole and a dollophead, Gen, He just doesn't get it, M/M, Mephistopheles is a hopeless soul and my heart aches for him, Pining, born from severe sleep deprivation due to the wonderful Arthur Darvill and his sad sad gaze, tis the Mephisto's POV nobody asked for, tw: inner thoughts of an unbalanced demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiMoriartea/pseuds/JiMoriartea
Summary: “How comes it, then, that you are out of Hell?”“Why this is Hell, nor am I out of it,” I spit, baring my teeth at Faustus' disbelieving laugh. “You think that I, having seen the face of God, having tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, am not tormented with ten thousand hells in being deprived of everlasting bliss?” It pains me, I don’t add. Every single moment of my existence hurts,acheswith it. Even now I bathe in sulfur no other can smell, my form twists in pain no other can sense.
Relationships: John Faustus & Mephistopheles, John Faustus/Mephistopheles
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	this is hell, nor am I out of it

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at fusing old and new English should be taken as such - an attempt. That is all I have to say xD  
> Enjoy, people!

_“How pliant is this Mephistophilis, Full of obedience and humility!”_

_And how foolish you, Faustus, for believing in the humility of an infernal spirit. What will not I do to obtain your soul? - Such is the humility of a demon._

___ 

He summons me. Or, rather, I come here of my own accord, sensing his abandonment of Savior Christ. 

I answer Faustus’ eagerness with my indifference, his prying questions with quick words and inner prayers for patience.

Not from God, though. I am a servant to great Lucifer, arch-regent and commander of all of us. Lucifer was once an angel and most dearly loved by God.

“How comes it, then, that you are out of Hell?” he asks upon learning these truths.

“Why this is Hell, nor am I out of it,” I spit, baring my teeth at his disbelieving laugh. “You think that I, having seen the face of God, having tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, am not tormented with ten thousand hells in being deprived of everlasting bliss?” It pains me, I don’t add. Every single moment of my existence hurts, _aches_ with it. Even now I bathe in sulfur no other can smell, my form twists in pain no other can sense.

“Go, and return to mighty Lucifer,” he commands. “Say Faustus surrenders to him his soul, so he will have you attend to me. To give me whatsoever I please, tell me whatsoever I demand. To slay my enemies, aid my friends. Always be obedient to my will.”

O, Faustus, leave these frivolous demands which strike a terror to my fainting soul! Don’t you see where this will lead you? We are unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, Conspired against God with Lucifer, and are forever damned with him.

My smile is nothing but teeth when I bow and depart. “I will, Faustus.” 

What would not I do to obtain your soul?

Lucifer accepts me and sends me off again, gleeful. The sulfur and flames within me sing with promises of fulfilled greed.

We make a deal. Faustus signs the contract with his blood, hot and boiling where my flames licked his pale wrist. He fears not what will come, has no concept of what his soul is condemned to the moment his crimson signature stains the parchment. Cruel amusement - Hell’s joy over a new contract - burns inside me with a sweet, sweet flame and, for a moment, it overpowers the taste of everything else. 

The man seems so certain of himself, his speech mocking Hell and yet sealing his fate within it. “Mephistopheles, receive this scroll, A deed of gift of body and of soul - on the condition that you will perform all covenants and articles between us!”

“Faustus, I swear by Hell and Lucifer To effect all promises between us both!”

He reads it then. Outloud. He reads the words in full and I have to stand in wonder before his sheer, damning arrogance that will cost him everything in the end. There will be no Heaven for Faustus now. Never a joyful thought shall touch him after this pact is over. Does he not realise it was insolence not dissimilar to his own that cost Lucifer and me our grace? How lucky he is to still have a soul to gamble with. How blessed. I would give my wretched one up in a second just to have what he has now. 

Finished, he hands me the scroll. "Take it."

I stare at the bony fingers that hold it, at the slim wrist, the forearm promising in crimson letters that Faustus shall never fly. 

This moment is _it_ for you. A first step on the path to eternal damnation. So determined to give God’s love up. For what - riches, power, a demon’s complete servitude. _(And I will be thy slave, and wait on thee, And give thee more than thou hast wit to ask.)_

For your soul. 

And do You see it? Does Your omnipresent eye hurt with the villainy? I hope it does, I hope You weep over this fool.

Snatching the thing from Faustus’ hand I pass him in a few quick strides. Before he changes his mind. Before I do? No, I would never do such thing. His soul is marked now, marred. _Mine._

Mine and Lucifer’s.

“So,” I sit down on my new master’s chair, make myself seem comfortable. “Shall now Faustus ask me what he wishes for?”

A slow smile stretches his lips.

We talk and it’s a push-and-pull game of questions, straightforward in their nature, and answers shot back with a quick tongue and a gesture of a hand.

“I think Hell is a fable.”

He astounds me. So many inquiries about Heaven and Hell already, and still, he expects his soul to have been sold to a nonexistent apparition. Is that what he thinks me to be? I would be offended were I not impressed instead. 

He laughs. It amuses him to question a demon about his dwellings. It excites him to learn of these new ideas, to attach them to his worldview. He sees himself above it all, a scholar, now gifted with the world as his playground. He thinks it to be the truth and it pleases his soul. It makes the burn within me flare up.

“Think so, till experience changes your mind.” 

Where we are is Hell, and where Hell is, there must we ever be.

___

Wherever my master goes, admiration follows in his steps. I do, as well. And with me, jealousy, envy and wrath of all those who had not been on the receiving end of his affections. And by my hand and on Faustus’ command, those ill-wishers are treated to their retribution.

He has now riches plenty. He travels the whole known world and all its continents lie at his feet. Gentle ladies and men both hang on his every word. Kings and princes bow before my Faustus’ art. 

Before my art. Lucifer’s art. 

With my assistance, none of my master’s wishes come unfulfilled. I have long ago convinced him against wanting a wife. _(Marriage is but a ceremonial toy, And, if thou lov'st me, think no more of it.)_ Instead, tempting him through others' glances, seducing him with others’ movements, _I_ guard that all his deepest wants are met. From someone else's throat, my own words lead him through the world’s pleasures. My own whispers make him _lose all coherent thought._

My own talents and demonic powers condemn him deeper into Lucifer’s grasp.

And through it all, I burn.

Together, we torment the pope, taunting him with whispered threats and scaring to death with “ghostly interferences”. We plot the deaths of two men to save one. It is during the moment we congratulate ourselves on a deed well done that I feel the most at peace, the farthest from the lick of infernal flames.

He has the command of Germany. 

He has the means to fly.

_(Homo, fuge!)_

We fly together and our eyes cherish the sight of the world, deep underneath us. “Sweet Mephistopheles,” he calls me. “My gentle Mephistopheles, within the compass of eight hours we viewed heaven, earth, and hell.” He cherishes the dragons I conjured for him and his eyes drink in the world he sees. The world I bring into his arm’s reach.

Are you blind, my Faustus? We are already in hell.

How joyful he is. How eager to know all kings and kingdoms, how pleased when his audience begs for more and more of his tricks. My tricks. Which I provide without restraint, invisible to anyone but him.

After one such night, both the husband and the expecting wife drool at his feet, competing against each other for his attention. His hardly-acquired reputation did the work for me this time. I leave him then to do as he pleases. I have no need for burning desires when there is a hellfire raging within me.

A few fools attack him, cut off his head. We _vanquish_ them. The angels that battle for my master’s goodness are greatly unbalanced now and there is no care in his heart for their pleas.

Oh, how dissolute, how unrestrained my Faustus has become. And I helped him to it. Gladly. We cherish everything without limits for my master's twenty-four years are shorter by the minute.

___

“What is that you want, Mephistopheles?” he asks me during one silent evening in the study from which he had summoned me years ago. 

The sudden interest surprises me. “What I want?”

“Yes," resting his quill down, he turns towards the divan from which I watch him. "For it is what we want and how we want it that defines us.”

My lips form a sharp smile. “You need not define me - you know what I am.” Stretching even more invitingly between the brocade pillows, I tell him: “What I want, I devour.”

His answering gaze is thoughtful. With slow precision, he bores into the centres of my eyes in a vain attempt at seeing something different than the emptiness I want him to see. “What you love you devour," he replies, "what I covet I keep.”

There is a heavy silence now, stretching for several breaths. I let it. Were I a human, foolish in my nature and unaware of my limits, I would have given the stilness words. The void in the things we covet and desperately wish to keep. 

“Then tell me, my Faustus, what meaning does it have that your soul has been given up so easily?” 

I am no human, though, and the inferno burns inside of me, keeping me mindful of what my actions can reveal.

Is it the mutual contract that affects me so? We're close now.

The end is nigh.

___

He repents now, moved into remorse by an old man who preaches to him about God’s forgiveness. And my master lets him. How can he? It’s too late for desperate pleas for God’s love! He’s only making it worse - I would know!

I’m livid. “You traitor! Revolt or I'll tear your flesh apart!” I threaten him with Lucifer’s wrath, ignoring the cries of his good angel behind me. I press a dagger into his hands, urging him to use it.

He does revolt then. His skin marred with our contract signed anew, he fights for the last bits of his life: “Torment that old man, Mephistopheles! He’s to blame for my lapse in resolve!”

Oh, how ready I am to make this old fool pay for his false words. Yet for all I try, I cannot touch his soul. “His faith is too great!” 

The old man leaves at last, and with him, My Faustus’ good angel.

"I hope this brings you little joy, demon," says her bright silhouette and my ears hurt from her blessed voice.

Joy? If only. Silent, I watch her go, knowing it is the last time I see her near my Faustus. Knowing I could stop her, make her stay a little longer. Let her give him one more chance to repent.

Knowing I will never do it.

It is then that my Faustus comes to me, shaken and still bleeding, that I hold him and seal my own part of our promise with a kiss on his brow.

That night, he is sullen and none of my tricks can rouse him. None of my creations delight his mind. His brow furrowed, my master sits on his chair, bathed in a single candle' light, contemplating perhaps the skull on his desk. If only I could, too, know the thoughts behind the empty eyes that had watched for so long.

Vanishing all the other lights, dancers and musicians, I sit nearby, deliberately taming the air of temptation that is my second nature. “What my Faustus wills me to do to lift his spirits?”

Turning his tired gaze towards mine, he says nothing.

“Not dancers neither music or concubines could rouse you from your dark thoughts. What else is there that your heart desires?”

The smile I get in return is mournful. “I desire for no more, sweet Mephistopheles, than a company in these damned times.”

“Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris,” I say with a twisted smile of my own, shifting so that he can rest his brow against me. He accepts. Misery loves company. 

And it is with his head bowed on my shoulder that I hear him whisper: “I curse you, wicked Mephistopheles. For you have deprived me of Heaven’s joys. When I behold the clouds I wish to repent still, even now, knowing my wish is hopeless.”

“That was your own seeking, Faustus!” My attempt at matching his tone does nothing to conceal my fury. “Curse yourself for that,” I spit as he lifts his head to watch me. “Do you think Heaven is such a glorious thing? It is not, I tell you. It is only half as fair as you,” my lungs take a swallow of the dusty air, “or any man that breathes on earth.”

He chuckles, sighs. “How can you prove that?”

I can feel the exhale on my skin. He waits for me to speak, though all the answers I would have given, were we in a different moment, seem inadequate now. I watch his eyes, fixed on me in quiet despair, I take in the many lines marking my Faustus’ brow and cheeks, the grey lines in his hair, now turned golden with the candlelight. 

Only a sliver of his promised time awaits him now. “Think on Hell, my Faustus, and all the joys it can still give you.”

His laugh now is empty, humourless. “What joys there are to give but one.” he sighs, and I follow his eyes to the darkness around us.

The end is close.

“I have been reading Alighieri, gentle friend.”

I know this for I have often watched him spend his darker moods bent over the book, ignoring all my attempts at lifting his spirits.

“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her,” he starts quoting in a hoarse voice, “and find nourishment at the very sight of her?” I glance at him and our eyes blend into each other. “I think so.”

My lips part and I take a moment before finishing the quotation: “But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?” I remember the words, having seen the page soaked in bitter wine and then spending an hour drying it out with a gentle breeze.

“See, Mephistopheles? One thing let me crave of you,” he closes his eyes, resting his head down again. “To end the longing of my heart's desire.”

I am grateful for the small privacy for I can no longer pretend emptiness. 

He wishes for a company so glorious that all his hopes for Heaven would lay forgotten. _(Whose sweet embraces may extinguish clean Those thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow, And keep my oath I made to Lucifer.)_

I give him Helen of Troy then, and like God created humans in his image, I make her the same way. She is beautiful, she is fiery. 

She is his. 

And I lead her gentle hand to his shoulder and let her comfort him in all ways he needs.

_(This, or what else my Faustus shall desire, will be performed in twinkling of an eye.)_

___

  
  


The hour is here.

The curses come, and the swearing. I am prepared when, in his last moments, he accuses me of bewitching his senses, of robbing him of eternal happiness.

“I do confess it, Faustus, and rejoice!” My belligerent laugh makes him flinch. “ It was I who turned the leaves of the Scriptures and let your eyes read those damning words.” It’s too late! Do not weep, Faustus, despair! 

Hell is a fable. Do you hear yourself now, my master? 

You weep and you pray, you wish for God to save you but here come Hell's gates; abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

No, do not call for me, either - now your soul, for long years kept in my possession, is Lucifer’s.

You will never know of the cruel _joy_ he felt when he learned I longed to keep it.

We all want company in our misery, after all.

___

_The devil doesn’t always laugh. Sometimes, he weeps with us._

**Author's Note:**

> After two days of intense screen-staring, it's finally finished!
> 
> 1) I need to thank @aziraphalesbian for being in love with the play so much that I just _had to see it._ (and then fell in love with it, too)
> 
> 2) I heavily borrowed from Marlowe's _The Tragical History of Dr Faustus,_ obviously. In fact, most of the dialogues are rewritten from there.  
> There are also bits I borrowed from Dante Alighieri and Ellie Fox as well as the musical Falsettos (yes, I admit - I wrote a whole scene just to be able to use the "What you love you devour, what I covet I keep" quote. In my defence, these words clung to my brain for two days straight and I needed to put them somewhere :')
> 
> 3) Please tell me any and all thoughts you may have on this! I feel slightly insecure about writing for this fandom and feedback would make my day :')


End file.
